David Davis resignation: A distraction David Cameron could do without

On Monday night, the Prime Minister was too busy persuading, cajoling and bribing MPs into backing his extension of detention without charge to 42 days to relax in front of the television.

David Davis with constituency supporters in Willerby, East YorkshirePhoto: PA

By Andrew Porter

1:59AM BST 14 Jun 2008

It was probably a good job, too. If he had switched on, he would have seen members of his Cabinet taking part in a Channel 4 programme, Gordon Brown: Where Did It All Go Wrong?

When the question was asked by a hotel porter of George Best, after he found the footballer cavorting with Miss World on top of a bed covered with banknotes, the tone was ironic. But this time it was deadly serious: the Prime Minister's poll ratings are down the pan, battered by a succession of bad news stories and electoral humiliations. So he can scarcely believe the fact that, after nine months of ever-greater successes, the Conservatives have stumbled into a mess all of their own making. Tomorrow, when Brown does his world statesman bit at No 10 with President Bush, as part of the US leader's farewell tour of Europe, David Cameron will be contemplating the prospect of one of his front bench's supposed "great talents" – David Davis, who until his sudden resignation on Thursday served as shadow home secretary – fighting an unnecessary by-election against the combined forces of a populist former tabloid editor, Kelvin MacKenzie, and a bunch of minor-party wackos.

To understand how this happened, it is necessary to go back to the high drama of Wednesday evening, and the debate on the Counter Terrorism Bill. The House of Commons rarely deals in proper political tension. But the atmosphere that evening was electric. An hour before the 6pm vote, anxious whips were scuttling desperately between the Chamber, the members' lobby and the tea rooms and bars. Both sides knew they did not have the numbers to carry the day.

Brown had spent that last hour with four Labour rebels, trying to talk them round. For one of them, Nick Raynsford, it was the third time in as many days he had spoken to Brown, who had pleaded personally with 60 of his MPs in the week before the vote. Having staked so much on the issue, the Prime Minister was trying everything.

The Tories on the Commons terrace looked more relaxed than their Labour counterparts, but Davis bore a worried frown. Like Brown, he knew that the vital votes belonged to the Democratic Unionist Party – and no one knew which way the Ulstermen would turn.

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Before the vote, Brown sat grim-faced in his office, reading over a statement he would use if the Government lost. He knew his political authority would be weakened severely by the loss – and that speculation about his leadership would intensify.

However, the DUP decided – amid rumours of hefty rewards for their province – to vote with the Government. When the result was announced, whoops of delight could be heard from the whips' office – and Brown's. "It really does not bear thinking about what would have happened [if we had lost]," said a Cabinet minister. "Gordon was ashen just before the vote – he knew what was at stake."

The Conservatives, Liberal Democrats and Labour rebels could claim a moral victory. But for Davis, who had led the Tories in their stance against extending the 28-day limit, moral victories count for little. The previous weekend, he had considered what he would do if the Tories lost. Having told very few people of his intentions, he left the Chamber in the midst of Labour ministers' celebrations, and went directly to a meeting with Cameron in the leader's office.

Cameron had fought hard on 42 days. The defeat hurt, but he knew that this was not a topic he wanted to keep in the public eye. His close allies in the shadow cabinet, George Osborne and Michael Gove, were acutely aware that they were not with public opinion on the subject.

The biggest-selling tabloid, the Sun, had been venomous in its attacks on the Conservatives over the issue, and a poll for The Daily Telegraph publishedon the morning of the vote showed that 69 per cent of the public backed 42 days. For the first time in months, Brown appeared to have the public with him. Cameron did not.

Tory aides were uncertain about what their future policy would be – an ambivalence that probably explains Davis's extraordinary meeting with Cameron. He told him he was resigning both as an MP and as shadow home secretary. The conversation was brief, as it was clear that Davis's mind was made up.

A shell-shocked Cameron left for a party he was hosting at his Kensington home. The guests were oblivious to any impending thunderbolt. Only Cameron's closest aides knew, and they knew there was nothing they could do about it.

Across London, in a Soho wine bar, Gordon Brown's backroom staff finally had cause to let their hair down. Little Italy has long been a haunt for New Labour types who want a late-night drink and dance; but upstairs, a group of Tory MPs were also in attendance. In good spirits, and blissfully unaware of what was coming, they drank until the early hours.

Later that morning, those MPs learned of Davis's decision – and the pain from their hangovers only got worse. True, the Tories still held the upper hand over Labour, but senior allies of Cameron knew that this was a major test. At the previous party conference, the Tory leader had heaped praise on his shadow team as a group of big beasts who at last had the better of their opposite numbers. And even though Davis had little in common with his leader, the boy from Tooting Bec with the busted nose and assassin's smile was perhaps the biggest beast of all.

Yet Davis is gone, and that raises questions about the way the Cameron inner circle operates. For example, Davis was irked that despite his seniority, he was rarely asked to attend the Tories' regular 9am strategy meetings. Instead, the close cabal is made up of George Osborne, Michael Gove and William Hague; chiefs of staff Ed Llewellyn and Catherine Fall; and communications chief Andy Coulson. Steve Hilton, the Svengali figure credited with rebranding the Tories, used to attend, but recently his appearances have been limited, as he prepares to move to California.

"One can see why Davis would resent being cut out of that little group," says one MP. "It is where a lot of the key decisions are made. But one would also point to other heavyweight figures such as Patrick McLoughlin [the chief whip], who should be there. There aren't too many other Derbyshire miners around that table to give them a reality check."

McLoughlin would also bring to the table some intelligence from the ranks. If a senior figure such as Davis – or, as was often rumoured, defence spokesman Liam Fox – was unhappy, the chief whip's antennae should have been able to transmit that fact to the leadership.

After this week's shock, the Cameron team are making an effort to reach out to those who may be disaffected: Fox will be brought into the fold. But Davis felt forced to go outside the party structure to make his voice heard. The danger for Cameron is that, in doing so, his former rival for the leadership has upset the Tories' strategy.

As someone who has seen how Government works during his time as an adviser, Cameron knows how simple the game is. Governments try to pin oppositions down, and force them to take positions on the big issues. Successful oppositions bob and weave, saying they cannot commit to policies without seeing the books, or kicking decisions into the long grass by setting up policy reviews.

The issue of 42-day detention was one that could not be ducked. So Cameron took a stand on the grounds of civil liberties. But this principled approach was a blessing for Labour, who knew that their policy was popular with the majority of voters.

Cameron will be mightily irritated, then, that a man he humbled so spectacularly in the leadership contest, yet still gave the shadow job he wanted, has chosen to keep this issue in the spotlight. It gives Labour more ammunition to claim that the Tories want to tear down CCTV cameras and let terrorists go free. As one Labour minister said last night: "It is odd. Labour, in the Eighties, used to take a policy that the public was clearly dead set against and argue for it over and over again. It was all part of that period of self-destruction."

Of course, this is not a disaster for the Tories. A shadow cabinet minister said last night: "The CCTV camera issue is not where we need to be, but elections are not won and lost on it."

Indeed, despite Davis's dramatic resignation, the Tory leader is, like George Best, not exactly in an unhappy position. His poll rating is nudging 50 per cent, while that of his rival's worsens by the day; the economy is stalling; and, thanks to the Irish, the Lisbon Treaty is back on the agenda. Those tempted to ask "Where did it all go wrong, Dave?" should still do so with their tongues firmly in their cheeks.